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Her stomach shimmied at the look in his eyes. He was probably right. It would be wonderful to put herself in Ross’s hands…so to speak. She liked him, and she knew he cared about her. There wouldn’t be any of that awkwardness of being strangers.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” she said. She was definitely chicken.
AFTER WORK, Kara entered Naughty and Nice and marched purposefully to the devices shelves, head high. She was a sexually active woman who had every right to explore new sensations. She faltered a little, though, when the most tasteful vibrator she could find was in a lurid purple box that screamed self-pleasure toy.
To cover her real purpose, she snatched up a few items on her walk to the register—some party napkins with suggestive jokes, a feather boa, some flavored body paints and a package of what turned out to be edible underwear. She kept her head down and prayed the bored girl behind the counter wouldn’t shout out, Price check on the Heavy Duty G-Spot Pleasure Wand.
The clerk didn’t bat an eye, thank God, and Kara rushed out of the store with her purchases in a plain brown bag, feeling as if she’d dodged a bullet.
Next stop, the video store. Pausing in the self-help section she picked out an instructional video featuring a positive-thinking guru, then slipped behind the purple curtain with the Adults Only sign over it. Ignoring the sideways glances of the men browsing—no, lurking—at the racks, she scanned titles that made her blush to her roots, and finally grabbed a tape with a soft-focused photo and no evident body parts.
Making sure only the motivational tape showed, she clutched the tapes close to her chest, pushed through the purple curtain…and ran smack-dab into Ross. The shock made her drop her sex-shop sack, spilling her brightly colored purchases on the carpet.
She stood there frozen for a second and Ross bent to pick up, then hand the items to her one at a time, examining each one. “Looks like you have a busy evening ahead of you,” he said, giving her the vibrator.
“Never you mind,” she said, shoving it into her bag, blushing furiously.
“And what are you renting?” he asked, snatching the tapes from her fingers. He held them high, out of her reach. “Hmm, Firefighters in Flames and Getting What You Want NOW…with Tony Rockwell,” he said, reading the covers. “I can see the firefighters—all those muscles and that big pole—but I had no idea you had a thing for old guys with bad dye jobs,” he said, handing the tapes back.
“Oh, stop it,” she said. “I’m experimenting, okay?”
“I’m kind of hurt you’re going with paraphernalia when I’m offering my fleshly self.”
“I’m exploring…um…options.”
“Flaming firefighters? Please. You are chicken.”
“Am not.” She was so humiliated she just blurted, “Okay, smart guy. You’re on. Let’s go to your place and see about some rules.” What else could she do? He’d dared her and she had her pride. She’d find out what he had mind, at least.
The minute they got to his place, Ross started rushing through the apartment picking up stuff.
“Don’t fuss on my account,” she said. She’d been to his place numerous times and he’d never batted an eye when she had to push stuff off the couch just to make a place to sit. His frantic cleanup now charmed her.
His furniture consisted of funky items he’d scored at yard sales and nostalgia shops, along with things he bought off friends who needed money. He had a fish tank made from an old-fashioned clear gas pump in one corner and a Roy Rogers lamp-end-table ensemble next to an orange Naugahyde sofa.
Only the art was decent—fabulous, actually. Art photography, original oils and several sculptures. His record albums—he collected vinyls of blues artists and had a mint condition turntable—were in orderly racks. Ross had taste, just no concern.
Cords from three video game controllers were tangled in the middle of the floor and the couch cushions were propped against the cocktail table—backrests for gamers, no doubt. “Mind if I put these back?” she asked, picking up a cushion.
“Be my guest. I’ll get us a couple beers.”
She sat down on the recushioned couch and thought about what she might be doing—having sex with Ross. She shivered.
She did want to learn to separate sex from love, and she’d been attracted to Ross from the day they met. She’d always envied the women who knew him as a sexual partner. Then there was the thrill of knowing he wanted her enough to plan ways to convince her to do it.
But what about their friendship?
Maybe being friends would make it easier, like he said. It would save time, get past all those awkward getting-to-know-you moments….
Was she losing her mind, thinking of sex with Ross as an efficiency measure? Maybe the ground rules would convince her. Or scare her off.
The hand she used to take the beer from Ross shook so badly that he put the bottle on the table, sat beside her and rubbed her cold fingers between his warm ones. “Don’t be nervous, Kara.” He looked into her eyes. His were velvet green with brown lace. Hazel, except sexier. “We’ll take it slow. Nice and slow.”
A shiver crawled up her spine. “How about those ground rules?” she said, extracting her hands to go for the notepad she kept in her purse.
“Let’s just talk, okay?” he said, taking away the pad and pen. “We’re friends, remember? Friends talk to each other.”
“Right.” She took a deep breath and blew it out.
“You’re blotching. You always blotch when you’re nervous.” He studied her a moment longer. “I do know you,” he said on a sigh, and thrust the pad at her. “Go ahead and write. You’ll jitter if you can’t.”
Relieved, she labeled the list Sex with Ross—Ground Rules. “Okay. Number one.” Before Ross could suggest something, she said, “Friendship first.”
“Absolutely,” Ross agreed. “Nothing gets in the way of that.”
She wrote it down. “How can we be sure?” She frowned.
“That’s rule number two,” he said. “The minute either of us feels weird, we quit. No questions asked, no harm, no foul.”
“Maybe that will work.” She wrote it down, then bit her lip.
“Rule number three,” Ross continued. “Stay focused on the goal.”
“Goal? I’ve never heard you use that word,” she said.
“Let’s say I’m motivated,” he said with a suggestive lift of his brow. “The goal is to show you how to have fun with sex.”
“But it can’t just be me. You have to have fun, too.”
“Oh, I’ll have fun. Don’t you worry about that.” He gave her that look again.
She shivered again.
“Next, this can’t interfere with dating other people,” Ross said. When she looked at him quizzically, he shrugged. “There’s a hottie I’m working on at LG Graphics.”
“And who could forget Lisa, the accountant with the high IQ from the Upside? You’re such a hound,” she chided. But then added, “Actually, that’s perfect. If I know you’re seeing other people, I couldn’t possibly get attached.” This just might work. “Number five is we have to be honest,” she said, writing the words BE HONEST in all caps. “No being polite just to please the other person.”
“And if we’re not sexually compatible, we quit. That’s number six, I guess.”
She stopped, her pencil in midair. “You think I’m boring, but I’m really not. The granny panties were only because—”
“Relax.” He chuckled. “I just mean sex is like dancing—sometimes your rhythms don’t match. No biggie.”
“I guess so.” She frowned, worried.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine. You’re hot, I’m hot, we’ll be hot together.” He winked. “Oh, and if there’s something you want me to do—sexually—you just say it and I’m there.”
“Okay, but nothing too racy.”
“Nothing you don’t want,” he said, but his eyes said, Or that I can’t talk you into.
She gulped. “I guess. But if it gets too, um, complicated, I can quit, no questions asked, right?”
“Rule number two, remember? No harm, no foul. Any more rules you can think of?”
“You’re positive about rule number one? Friendship first?”
“Absolutely. I couldn’t survive Siegel on the rampage without you keeping me from putting my foot in my mouth. Anything else?”
She pondered, taking a deep swallow of her beer. This was completely new territory for her, so she had no idea what rules she might desperately need at some point. “One more,” she said. “If we need a new rule at any time, we can add it.”
“Oh, God. The Queen of Revision appears. Now this feels like work.”
“Being flexible is a good thing,” she said.
“Mmm, I’ll say. I know a woman who can lift her ankles way up to her—”
“Stop it, you’re scaring me,” she said, slugging him. “I’m no contortionist, so don’t expect anything spectacular.”
“You might surprise yourself,” he said, low and sexy. “We might unleash a tigress.”
A nervous giggle erupted from her. “I’d settle for a sex kitten.”
“Oh, me, too. With sweet little claws that dig in just this side of pain.”
Her insides heated up. “Anyway, I guess that’s it,” she said. “Shall I read them back to you?”
“I got it,” he said, “and you do, too.”
“Okay, then.” She slid her notepad back in her purse. She’d make a copy for both of them later.
Then, there she was, sitting knee to knee with Ross, with nothing to do but look into those hot green eyes and wonder about the woman with her ankles up to her whatever. She grabbed her beer bottle to take a drink and banged it into her teeth. “Ouch.”
“Careful with that thing,” he said, taking the beer from her icy fingers and putting it beside his on the table. He extended his arm along the couch behind her and scooted closer. “All this talk has me in the mood. How about we get started?”
The only light in the room was the golden glow through the stretched rawhide on Ross’s Roy Rogers lamp. Romantic in an adolescent kind of way. And Ross smelled good, she noticed—clean and fresh with a sporty scent. He had such a sensuous smile. And he wanted her. Would she disappoint him? Suddenly she wasn’t ready. “It’s getting late. Maybe we could start fresh on Saturday.”
“No time like the present, Kara,” he said, his eyes raking over her in eager appraisal. “Don’t you always say procrastination is the enemy of progress?”
“Not fair to use my work ethic against me.” He was right, though. If she waited, she’d have Thursday and Friday and all day Saturday to get nervous. She did need to learn how to keep things casual. If not Ross, then who? Someone she’d have to start fresh with. Why not now? “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do this thing.”
“You make it sound like a project.”
“No. I don’t mean that. I’m just—”
“Nervous, I know. How about a little atmosphere?” He leaned past her and pushed a button on a remote. The gravelly voice of a seventies singer known affectionately as the Walrus of Love swelled into the room.
“God, you’re using your warm-up move on me,” she said. He’d told her of the magical effect Barry White on auto-play had on women.
“Sorry,” he said. “I go with what works.”
“Try to stay fresh for me,” she said. “In honor of our friendship?”
“Deal.” He leaned in and she braced for a replay of last night’s kiss. Except he went for her neck with a soft, nuzzling motion. Mmm. Women love you to mess with their necks—another tidbit from Ross’s repertoire. It did feel good and her body started a slow melt until she remembered the woman Ross had dated whose leg twitched just like a dog’s when he hit a certain place. Kara burst out laughing.
Ross stopped, frowned. “What’s so funny?”
“Sorry. I just remembered Lorraine. Wasn’t she the one with the twitching leg?”
“Yeah, right. Focus, okay?”
“Sure. Sorry.”
“Let’s do something I know you’ll like.” He moved in for a kiss. It started like the Tuesday one, then got better. Everything inside her went soft and melty. She leaned in closer. Ross’s hands slid up to touch her breasts. Sooo good.
Then he started patting her chest. He broke off the kiss. “Is that one of those water bra thingies?”
“What if it is? Come on.” She went for his mouth again.
“You don’t need that fake thing. You have perfectly good breasts.”
“The darts are big on this blouse. I need some padding. Just ignore it.”
“Right,” he said. He shifted her body so she was lying on the sofa and he was half on top of her. Lovely, but she kept thinking this was just the next step in his usual mating ritual.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said.
“Is that a line?”
“Of course not. You are beautiful. Your contacts show off your eyes. Crystal-blue. Nice shape—kinda almond.”
“Thank you.” It was glorious to hear compliments like that from Ross. This situation had tremendous potential.
“Remember the time that guy licked your eyeball and swallowed the lens?” Ross said.
“Yeah,” she said. “Never date a man who still lives with his mother at age thirty. They get strange.”
“Enough talk. We’re losing momentum here,” he said.
“Right.” She pulled him down for a kiss.
“Mmm,” he murmured, “that’s what I’m talking about.”
She felt a momentary thrill, then she noticed a lump behind her head. She reached around and fished out transparent red bikini panties. She held them out. “Either you’ve got some explaining to do about your wardrobe or one of your ladies left a souvenir.”
He shrugged. “Suzee forgot, I guess.”
“How could she forget her underwear?”
